


not invincible

by escapismandsharpobjects



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Fever, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23620771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escapismandsharpobjects/pseuds/escapismandsharpobjects
Summary: written for BTHB prompt: fevers. riker is sick but decides it's not that bad, but it is.
Relationships: Beverly Crusher & William Riker, Data & William Riker, Jean-Luc Picard & William Riker, William Riker & Worf
Comments: 29
Kudos: 68





	not invincible

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!! this is for the Only Other Person I Know That Likes Riker Whump so if you're not them but you're here for that then PLEASE leave a comment and tell me who you are i Need more content lol. hope you enjoy!!!

Will Riker was not the type of person that would go to Sickbay at the slightest inconvenience. Or the largest one, really. He had more important things to do than be injured or sick.

Like today, for example. He had the responsibility of leading a small away mission to a new Federation colony to deliver some supplies and check up on the colonists’ progress. While this wasn’t exactly a thrilling exploration, he enjoyed visiting colonies, and besides, he could get some  _ real  _ fresh air, maybe even take a little nature walk-the holodeck, for all its capabilities, really couldn’t compare to the bona fide  _ outdoors. _

Maybe a walk in nature would lessen the pounding in his head. It had begun as soon as he had woken up, spiked dramatically when he’d gotten up out of his bed, so that he’d had to collapse back onto it for a second, and then mellowed out into something tolerable but irritating. Not the end of the world, he figured.

He’d skipped breakfast, having felt extremely and decidedly Not Hungry, and arrived for his shift on the Bridge slightly earlier than he needed to. He chatted with a young Ensign who had also shown up for shift early until shift began, at which point he gratefully sank down into his chair next to the Captain. Why did his legs ache? He hadn’t done any strenuous exercise involving them recently. 

“Morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Will. Sleep well?”

Not really. He’d woken up twice in the middle of the night, the first time feeling entirely too hot, the second entirely too cold. “I slept fine. Any important news yet?”

“Nothing. The colonists are expecting our visit at 1100 hours.”

He nodded, then relaxed into his chair. He had a few hours of hopefully-not-much before he had to do anything. He’d be fine by then, he told himself. He just needed a minute to relax, or something. 

The morning was filled with usual, menial activity. Reports came and went, small talk was made, and the ship cruised along at warp three, uninterrupted by anything out of the ordinary.

They arrived at the colony slightly ahead of schedule, and its leader invited the away team down at once, if they wished, to have a look around.

Ordinarily, Riker would have been appreciative of the chance to explore the colony, but as the morning had progressed, his headache had grown more intense, not to mention he’d steadily felt colder and colder, yet he was pretty sure he was sweating. He was sick, he knew. But not  _ that  _ sick, not really. Certainly nothing worthy of a trip to Sickbay. 

He took a second to mentally prepare himself for the task of standing up, and called to the members of his away team-“Data, Worf, with me. A science officer will meet us in Transporter Room Three.”

He stood up and wavered on his feet for a moment as black dots swam in his field of vision. Picard reached out and steadied him by the elbow.

“Are you alright, Number One?”

He jerked his elbow out of Picard’s grasp, a little harder than he’d perhaps meant to. “I’m fine. Sir.”

Picard looked at him, something like worry on his face. He looked as if he might say something, but didn’t. He sat back down, and the three members of the away team stepped into the turbolift.

Riker leaned-what he hoped was subtly-against the wall of the turbolift. His legs, apparently having decided that aching was not enough, had begun to shake slightly, and, while he didn’t think it was noticeable to the others, it was certainly noticeable to him.  _ Stop shaking,  _ he thought at himself, as though that would do anything.

But if the others noticed anything unusual about him, they didn’t mention it. The three arrived at the transporter room, where they were met by Lieutenant Alvarez, a science officer specializing in horticulture, who would be checking up on the colony’s plant life. The four of them beamed down, and were immediately greeted by a smiling woman with dirt on her clothes and mud in her hair.

“Good morning, officers! I do apologize for my messy state, I’ve been tending the gardens all morning. They’re doing just marvellously, by the way-but let me show you!”

Data and Lieutenant Alvarez followed her, while Worf and Riker each picked up a box of supplies and headed towards the main building of the colony.

Ordinarily, a large, heavy box would have been no problem for Riker, who was, after all, very capable of lifting heavy things. However, the universe seemed to really have it out for him today-his palms were sweaty and he kept almost losing his grip, his legs were still shaking, and now his arms had decided to join in as well, plus his head was  _ still  _ pounding. He nearly lost his footing several times on the fairly short walk, and by the time he arrived, Worf was already inside, his box having been placed on a table. Its contents were being unpacked by a small group of colonists, who were attempting to engage in conversation with him and finding it difficult.

As soon as Riker stepped into the room, the box fell out of his hands and to the floor. It landed the right way up, as though he’d carelessly dropped it on the ground instead of losing his grip on it. His hands were shaking, he noticed, and he looked down at them, and then looked up, to where everyone in the room was looking at  _ him.  _

“Didn’t mean to drop that quite so hard,” he said, in what he hoped was a lighthearted tone. He picked the box back up, or did his best to, and Worf came to his side, taking the box from him and gently setting it on the table like it weighed nothing at all. 

“Are you...okay, Commander?”

“Of course, yeah. I just...lost my grip on the box, that’s all.”

Worf looked at him skeptically but said nothing. He headed outside, nodding slightly at the confused-looking colonists who had watched that whole exchange.

Riker also turned to the colonists, nodded sharply (which made the pain in his head spike once again), and followed Worf out of the building.

The two of them milled around for a few minutes, waiting for the other two members of the away team to return, so that they might discuss how the colony was progressing. Or rather, Worf milled around, wandering among the colony’s few buildings as though he were inspecting them for safety violations. Riker simply stood in the dirt, watching the scenery around him tilt and blur, feeling like his whole being was slowly melting. 

He attempted to lessen this feeling in the only way that made sense to his fever-ridden mind, and sat down on the ground, placing his head between his knees. This accomplished nearly nothing, but he wasn’t in danger of collapsing and falling to the ground any longer, so he counted that as a win, somewhere in the back of his mind.

Somewhere even further in the back of his mind, he recognized that he had to be nearly delirious with fever, but that thought was overrun by the more pressing matter of said fever, which was making it very difficult for him to do any kind of thinking beyond “everything hurts and I might be dying.”

Through his distorted vision, Riker managed to make out a shape advancing toward him. As that shape got closer, it resolved itself into the muddled form of Worf. Without thinking, Riker shot to his feet, not wanting to be caught sitting down in the dirt for no good reason. 

This was, naturally, an extremely foolish idea, as he had no sooner shot to his feet than he was pitching forward, an intense wave of dizziness knocking him too far off balance to possibly recover. He nearly fell to the ground, but was stopped at the last second by a pair of arms which caught him and pushed him back into a standing position.

He most likely would have collapsed again, but the owner of the arms had apparently realized that something was wrong, and had placed hands firmly on his shoulders to prevent that outcome. 

Riker slowly blinked his eyes open, trying to clear the fog of dizziness. His eyes made out the gold color of an Operations uniform, and he became dimly aware that someone was speaking to him. 

“Commander!”

“Hm?”

A hand came up hesitantly to his forehead and was quickly withdrawn. “Commander, your temperature appears to be far too warm. Are you ill?”

“Worf?”

“Yes.”

_ Had he been about to say something? There had been something he’d needed to say...what was it again?  _

A sharp tap to the side of his face brought his thoughts back into reality. “Commander!” 

“I feel...really bad,” he managed to say, feeling his words slide and melt into each other. “Hurts.”

“What hurts, Commander?”

“Dunno. Everything.”

He decided he’d said enough at this point, and simply slumped forward into Worf’s arms. Everything was _ so very  _ uncomfortable, and he just wanted to fall asleep and wake up and feel better.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. The next time he woke up, he was lying face up on a couch which was most definitely not aboard the  _ Enterprise. _ He was freezing, and his head still  _ hurt. _

“Wh’re am I?”

“You are in the home of Miss Marion Jones, one of the colonists, Commander,” said Data, from somewhere to his right. Riker attempted to look for him, moving his head, but felt something-something very cold-slip off of his forehead.

“Don’t move, please,” came the voice of the woman who’d greeted them-Marion, Riker took it. 

Whatever had slipped off his forehead was put back. He clumsily reached up a hand to move it. “What is that?” he muttered. “‘S cold.”

“It’s just a cold cloth, Commander. You have a dangerously high fever, nearly 104 degrees,” said Marion.

“Oh.”

He thought for a moment, doing his best to process. “Why...why am I not back on the ship, then?”

“Electromagnetic storm,” piped up Lieutenant Alvarez. “Not a big one, but bad enough to interfere with transporter function. The colonists estimate it will take about an hour to pass.”

“Oh.” 

“You will be fine,” Data added. “The colonists lack sophisticated medical supplies, but they are well versed in basic Earth medicine, and they are confident that, providing they keep your fever below 104 degrees, you shall not sustain any damage.”

He supposed he should have been grateful for this news, but he was freezing and achy and once again on the edge of delirium, so he said nothing beyond a simple “mm.” of agreement.

Throughout the following hour, the fully lucid members of the away team took turns talking with the few colonists who had congregated in the house and trying to make contact with the  _ Enterprise. _

Marion made tea for the group, and she and Alvarez chatted about the plants she was hoping to grow in the coming years. Data engaged in conversation with two children who had come by who were fascinated by the idea of an android. Even Worf found a suitable conversation partner, a young woman with a passion for studying weaponry. The room was filled with quiet chatter, and it would have been a lovely, peaceful scene, if it weren’t for the underlying worry for the Commander’s state-while his temperature was not yet dangerous, it had most likely been rising all day, and there was no guarantee that it would not continue to do so. Therefore, every few minutes, someone would check up on him and report his status to the group.

This went on for perhaps half an hour, at which point the storm reached its peak. Conversation had reached a lull, cups of tea had been emptied, and a tense silence filled the room.

This was the scene to which Riker awoke, his mind hazy, his thoughts still jumbled. He groaned lightly and tried to sit up. A gentle hand was placed on his chest, stopping his movement.

“Still here?” he asked clumsily.

“Yes, Commander,” replied Data, sitting down on the floor next to the couch. “The storm has reached a peak, however, and the colonists estimate it will be over within twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes should not have seemed like a long time, because it wasn’t, but to Riker, it seemed like an eternity. 

“Twenty minutes? That’s...that’s so long.”

Data might have said something in reply, but his ears suddenly chose to not cooperate, and whatever was said was lost in a distorted garble. He felt  _ so bad… _

He woke up the next time to near silence. He could hear faint voices coming from somewhere, and attempted to focus on them.

“-gets much worse and I don’t know what else we can do. The electromagnetic interference should fade within another half hour, maybe even less, but-”

_ Another half hour?  _ He was so tired of being here, of being sick...but what could he do?

The answer was, obviously, get up and leave. He was fully capable of that, right? He had to be. So he stood up and made his way towards the door. His hand was on the knob when he felt himself be pulled away, and he reached desperately out for the door.

“Commander, you cannot leave. You should not be standing,” Worf instructed, steering him back to the couch.

“‘M fine. Don’t wanna be here.”

“I do not wish you to be here either, Commander. However, it will be only a few minutes before we can beam back to the ship.”

“You said half ‘n hour.”

“Lieutenant Worf said that twenty minutes ago,” Data informed him. “The electromagnetic radiation has nearly dissipated.”

“Oh.” Time, apparently, did all sorts of strange things when you weren’t capable of paying attention to it. “That’s nice.”

He drifted in and out of consciousness for the next several minutes, until he heard the distinctive voice of Captain Picard come through a combadge. “Understood, Mr. Data. One to beam directly to Sickbay.”

The next instant, he was lying on the floor in Sickbay. Someone hauled him to his feet and said something which he couldn’t quite make out, and he blacked out once again.

He woke up the next time feeling uncomfortably warm and a great deal less achy. 

“How are you feeling, Will?” came the voice of Dr. Crusher. 

He looked up at her and managed a small smile. “Hot. But better.”

She smiled back. “Your fever’s broken. It was already starting to come down when you beamed back up, but I gave you a little something to speed it up. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

“Thanks.”

“Although,” Dr. Crusher began, and he cringed inwardly, knowing exactly where this was going, “if you had just come to me this morning, you could have avoided most of your suffering.”

“It wasn’t that bad this morning,” he defended.

“Really? Jean-Luc told me you nearly collapsed on the Bridge. Why he didn’t stop you then…” she drifted off, then looked at him with a glare that wasn’t really angry, more just...concerned. 

He couldn’t think of what to say besides, “sorry.”

“It’s okay, Will. Just please come to me next time? You don’t have to be strong and invincible all the time, you know.”

He nodded. “I guess.”

She ran a hand through his hair, which he noted, belatedly, was plastered to his forehead with sweat. “Get some sleep,” she advised. 

He did.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!!!! hope this was ok, please feel free to let me know your thoughts!


End file.
